Paladin
by I hart Booth
Summary: Booth is the protector, he can't help himself. But it's not just Brennan, it's all the squints.' A series about how Booth poves he's the Paladin every single day. Not romance, just feel good fic.
1. Nobody Messes with My Squints, but Me

**These are just some cute little fics that are kind of like a series I guess, since one chap has nothing to do wtih the next. But Booth has such a hero complex, I decided it probably didn't just apply to Brennan, but to all 'his squints'. Lets see if I'm right, shall we?**

Booth rolled his neck attempting to ward off the headache he could feel coming on. What had he been thinking taking Zack into the field with him? Brennan was away in Paraguay for two weeks on an urgent dig and, so far, she hadn't been kidnapped or attacked, so he was obliged to stay in DC and work cases with the Boy Genius.

"Yes Zack, I'm sure he's not the killer." Booth sighed heavily as they made their way inside the FBI building to pick up some paperwork in his office.

They'd just finished interviewing a suspect and thankfully, Zack hadn't said anything to hurt the investigation, but he hadn't really helped either. Mostly he sat there with that open-mouthed, intense curiosity he always wore when studying human behavior.

_Maybe he really_ **is** _from Mars._

"But, Agent Booth, how can you be sure? I haven't seen any forensic evidence to support that conclusion. All the tests have been inconclusive." Zack hurried after Booth, who's strides seemed to be getting larger.

They weaved through the bullpen toward Booth's office. He was once again confused by Agent Booth's logic, or lack thereof. Although that wasn't at all unusual.

"Not everything is about forensics Zack, some things you just know." Booth stated as patiently as he could which, granted, wasn't very.

_Like, for example, I _**know **_I will never allow Bones to leave the country without me again. Not when I have to work with Brainy Boy while she's gone._

Booth liked Zack, he really did. He really wasn't that bad of a guy. But the kid was more annoying than Fran Drescher on Helium.

"But _how_ do you know Agent Booth?" Zack couldn't believe how illogical Booth was being. There was no evidence to support or deny that the man they had just interviewed had not killed their victim, and yet Booth was convinced he hadn't. The young scientist had always found Booth's hypothetical rants annoying and useless, but knew better than to say so. Now that he was being subjected to them full time, he couldn't fathom how Dr. Brennan managed to put up with it.

_Agent Booth is a very emotional person._ He thought to himself, studying Booth, as he often did, when the agent stopped to talk to Cullen in the hallway. He kept using wide gestures and moving about as he talked.

_He doesn't seem capable of speaking without using his hands._

"Yessir, we're heading over there right after I pick up the McNulty file that Gates left in my office." Booth didn't hear Zack approach so when he turned around he almost ran the young man over.

"Holy…Zack!" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, resisting the urge, for the sixth time that day, to pull out his gun and shoot one of them between the eyes. Maybe both.

"Just…stay here. Okay? I'll be right out." He pointed to the spot on the floor where Zack was standing a few feet away from his office. He needed a moment to himself to bring his short temper back under control before someone ended up hurt.

He waited until Zack met his eyes.

"Don't. Move." He said through clenched teeth.

Zack frowned and nodded. He wasn't a dog. He didn't need one-word directions. In fact, he was capable of following a whole series of directions given at once without much trouble. But the fierce look on Booth's face made him stiffen involuntarily. He wasn't so great with people, but Agent Booth had a way of making his wishes known.

Booth disappeared inside his office and Zack, took a moment to study the activity in the bullpen. It was a flurry of chaos, as far as he could tell, nothing like at the lab.

There were many more people in a much smaller space. They moved sporadically, reacting to shouts from the other end of the room, or ringing phones or any number of different stimuli he saw present. He noticed that many of the agents showed labored movements and signs of fatigue and most carried a Styrofoam cup full of black coffee.

Zack wrinkled his nose, he didn't like coffee. The one time he drank it he hadn't been able to sleep for 24 hours and Hodgins kept delaying in response to his questions because he was 'talking faster than the speed of sound'. Which, of course, is humanly impossible, but Zack understood what he meant anyway.

Noticing Zack's pained expression, one he often wore when concentrating, a passing agent stopped to ask, "What's eatin' you?"

Zack turned to face a short, pink faced agent in a navy blue tie and wrinkled shirt, holding a greasy meatball sub.

He frowned and glanced down at himself. "Nothing's eating me. And since I am not eating anything I would have to assume you don't mean 'what am I eating' so your question doesn't make any sense. The insects that do eat human bodies obviously aren't interested until after the person has been deceased, usually for quite a few hours, and I am very much alive."

The man stared blankly and looked past Zack to a blonde agent who'd stopped nearby and was giving Zack a strange look.

Mistaking his hesitance for bewilderment, Zack continued.

"What I mean is, I don't understand the question." He said carefully, tilting his head as he waited for clarification.

The first agent was joined by the other and they gave Zack a quick once over.

"Man are you for real?" The blonde asked, giving his colleague an amused smile. "That was the geekiest thing I've ever heard."

"Kid, where are you from?" The short agent took a big bite of his sandwich and nodded at him. "And do you need a phone to call the Mothership?"

"ET phone home!" Both Agents found this hysterical and the taller leaned on the meatball faced one, burying his head in his arm as he laughed.

Zack's frown deepened. Hodins had called him an alien enough times to know that what these men were saying was not at all flattering.

"If I were an extraterrestrial, which I'm not, I most likely would have my own communication device since our telephones would not have nearly the power to send a signal out into space." He smoothed his blazer self consciously, wishing for his blue lab coat. People tended to respect him more when he wore his lab coat.

He didn't know why, but whatever he'd said only gave the other men more fuel and they were now red in the face from laughing, begging him to stop.

"Stop what?"

Their laughter was now catching the attention of a few other agents passing by who came to see the joke.

"What's going on?" "What's so funny?" "C'mon Andrews, tell us."

"Just listen to this guy, it's hilarious. Ask him anything!" The shorter agent gasped, tears now gathering in his eyes.

Zack swallowed, he was uncomfortable in group situations and he found himself glancing over their shoulders, searching for Booth. He jus wanted to get out of there.

"Hey, kid, what's your name?"

Zack turned to the one woman in the group, a heavyset red-head with pencils in her hair bun.

"Dr. Zackery Addy." He stated confidently. Maybe a PhD would scare them off.

"Oh, I know who this is!" A young agent with slicked back hair and a crisp shirt spoke up, "This is one of those scientists. One of Booth's squints."

"That's right Vance." A deep voice cut between them sharply and the agents swallowed their laughter. Parting slowly, they revealed a severe looking Booth, his hand's on his hips, jaw clenched in irritation.

Booth cursed under his breath as he exited his office. He knew he shouldn't have left him alone, but it was only a minute. What had he done to gain so much attention in barely five minutes?"

He approached the group quietly and listened for a moment. Then his blood began to boil. They were laughing at Zack. Laughing at one of **his** squints.

_That is not gonna fly._

Zack sighed and his shoulders hunched slightly in relief. He'd never expected to feel that emotion when Agent Booth entered a room.

Booth slowly walked between the group agents, now totaling six, meeting each one of them in the eye squarely. All except a short, pink faced agent named Higgins, who kept his eyes firmly planted on the ground.

"What's going on Ben?" Booth asked, his voice deceptively calm. No one moved.

"Aww, c'mon guys, what's the joke? I wanna laugh too." He addressed the group but kept his eyes on Higgins, who sheepishly took another bite of his sandwich while staring at the floor.

"N-nothing Agent Booth. Sir. We were uh…just talking to your friend here." The blonde agent said lightly. Booth flicked his eyes toward him.

"Really?" He took a step closer to Higgins so he was looking down on the man's sweaty face. "Is that what was going on Ben? 'Cause from where I stood it looked like you guys were making fun of one of our associates from the Jeffersonian. One of the valuable scientists with an IQ so much higher than yours you wouldn't even know where to look for it on the chart."

He stood back suddenly and addressed the group, again meeting their eyes in turn. "But I'm sure I'm wrong in that. None of my fellow agents at the Federal Bureau of Investigation would be caught dead disrespecting on of our Jeffersonian associates, right?" He paused and was pleased to find all his subordinate agents shifting nervously. He dipped his chin slightly and dropped his voice.

"If I ever hear of any of you treating Dr. Addy, or any of the other Jeffersonian scientists that way again, you'll be dealing with me personally. Am I clear?"

The agents mumbled their affirmative reply and Booth nodded curtly.

"Good. C'mon Zack, lets go." He turned on his heal and walked briskly toward the elevator.

Upon entering Zack chanced a quick look at Booth who stood stiffly beside him, staring straight ahead.

"Thanks." He said quietly, raising his hand and resting it on Booth's shoulder awkwardly. "That meant a lot."

Booth straightened his tie.

"Don't touch me."

Zack immediately withdrew his hand and looked straight ahead, mimicking Booth's straight posture.

"And…you're welcome."

Zack turned quickly, but Booth's blank expression held no evidence that he'd just spoken. He tilted his head and turned away again, missing the fleeting upturn of Booth's lips.

Zack found the pudgy agent Higgins staring at the elevator as the doors started to shut and he boldly met the man's eyes.

_Who's the tough guy now? Ha!_

**Yeah! Go Zach! So, what'd you guys think? The next chap is Angela.**


	2. The Agent and The Wild Child

**I'm sure I will regret posting this so soon since I haven't come up with anything else for this story yet, just vague ideas. But, at any rate. Here you go! **

It was the most popular bar in town with all the hottest bands and the coolest drinks. It was a common haunt of the DC young and restless. Crowded though it was on this Friday night, it was the perfect place to find gorgeous guys and beautiful girls.

This was exactly why it had been chosen for the bachelor party.

"What do you mean I'm buying?" A man with dark hair and blue eyes turned to address his friends, three flanked him on either side. "I'm the one getting married tomorrow and you jokers didn't get me a stripper. The least you could do is buy a man a drink!" He exclaimed.

His friends jibbed him a little bit more before one spoke up. Brown hair tightly gelled into place, brown eyes sparkling playfully, Seeley Booth stood and quieted his friends with a wave of his hand.

"Alright, alright boys. First round is on me."

Cheers erupted from their small group, and Seeley shook his head as he passed his credit card to the bartender.

"Seeley, my man! I always knew I liked you best." The dark haired man yelled over the noise in the room. The rest of his friends booed this comment and before long they were all gulping down beers, except Seeley who sipped his slowly, as he was the driver for the night.

"Shots!" One man, the oldest of the group with light hair and a black leather jacket. "Do some shots Goergie."

Booth rolled his eyes. "You know Georgie can't hold his liquor."

The groom-to-be's snappy comeback was interrupted when one of his friends came plowing into him from the other side of the room, breathless and grinning.

"What is it Dan?"

"Dude! You guys, you have to come see this. There's some chick over there, she's doing shots and giving lap dances!" He shouted with glee. Immediately the men were off their stools and working their way across the room.

Georgie turned back. "C'mon Seeley! What are you doing?"

Booth shook his head. "That's okay, you go on ahead. Tell me all about it later." Booth was as much of a red blooded male as the rest of his buddies, and any other time he would have been right there with them. But Brennan had been pretty clear, and their relationship was still new, he didn't figure he needed to be ogling some drunk girl when he'd already promised there would be no strippers.

_It's disgusting and it objectifies women._ Her voice rang out in his head over the noise of cheers and whoops of glee coming from the other men across the room.

"Seeley!" He heard someone shout back to him. "She's climbing up on top of the bar man! Get over here!"

Booth looked up, intending to shout some excuse at his friend, when his eyes landed on the woman on top of the bar.

Singing off key and gyrating to a blaring Pussycat Dolls song, was a tall, curvy brunette. In a jean mini-skirt, red boots, a cowboy hat and sunglasses, Booth didn't need two seconds to know who he was staring at.

In an instant he was pushing his way through the crowd of men over toward the bar, earning himself a few choice words on the way.

By the time he got to her, Angela had already removed her shirt and was dancing on top of the bar in a thin camisole, twirling the purple garment over her head.

"Angela! Get down from there right now."

Angela's head whipped over to the sound of the voice, causing her to stumble at the sudden movement.

"Boothy-Boo!" She shrieked, holding her arms out to him. Booth reached up and grabbed her by the hips and she braced herself against his shoulders as he swung her down off the bar in one big movement.

The crowd was as rowdy as ever as he quickly pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her scantily clad shoulders.

"Hey man! What's the matter? You her boyfriend or something?" Someone called out, clearly irritated that Booth had taken away their late night show.

Gritting his teeth, Booth turned around, carefully pushing Angela behind him while she snagged a glass off the bar and sipped it.

"No, I'm her brother and an FBI agent." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his badge. He zeroed in on the greasy looking man who'd made the comment and took a tiny step toward him.

"That's right. My borther Boof. Look…he's twins!" Angela slurred from behind him.

"Care to enlighten me as to your intentions toward my sister?" Booth asked, pointedly glancing down at the five-dollar-bill in the man's hand. "Because soliciting women for sex is a felony. _And_ I'd have to kick your ass."

The man took a few steps back.

"Naw…we were just…watching her dance."

"Well the show is over so scatter." He said a little louder, and almost immediately the crowd dispersed.

"Alright, c'mon Ange." Booth said, turning to collect Angela, who was swaying on her feet.

After apologizing to his buddies, who were really too drunk to notice he was leaving, and buying another round of drinks while leaving the bartender with explicit instructions to call the group a cab when the time came, Booth guided Angela out of the bar, where she could perform her rendition of 'The Hills are Alive' for the rest of the city.

"Okay, Ange, these seats are leather…" Booth reached across Angel'a waist to buckle her in to his SUV, since apparently the 'stupid thing kept trying to get away from her'. "So if you're gonna hurl, say something and I'll pull over."

"You are my favorite FBI agent…didja know that Boothy?" She smiled and tapped his nose with her finger.

Booth couldn't help but smile at her goofy grin. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Angela shrugged and turned to start pressing buttons on his stereo. Booth sighed, closing his eyes before rounding the truck and getting into the driver's seat.

By the time they arrived at Angela's apartment she was giggling so hard she couldn't get the key in the lock.

"I keeps mooovinn Boo…Boo…ha! BooBoo!" She laughed hysterically, waving her keys in his face.

Booth smiled and rolled his eyes, taking the keys from her and opening the door. With her arm around his shoulders, he helped her inside, sitting her on a stool at the kitchen island while he flipped on a few lights.

"Okay Ange where's the…"

Angela reached out and grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling him toward her and crashing her lips against his. Booth was wide-eyed and stunned for a moment, but immediately reached up and took hold of her wrists, releasing himself from the alcohol-induced lip-lock.

"Angela!" He said, wiping her lipstick off his mouth as heat rose in his cheeks. "Don't do that." He waved a finger at her. The drunken brunette started giggling…and then abruptly stopped.

"I think I'm gonna…" She leapt off her stool and stumbled across the room to the hallway, throwing herself inside the first door on the right.

Booth sighed but followed close on her heels. As he reached out to pull back her hair, he shook his head.

_How did I go from drinking with friends at a bar, to holding back my girlfriends' best friend's hair while she puked?_

Angela sighed and flushed the toilet. Her legs were wobbly and Booth helped her stand and move to the sink where she rinsed her mouth and splashed water on her face.

"That was a fine display of femininity Ange, I'm impressed." Booth teased while she bowed over the sink.

Angela lifted her head to Booth and he saw the red rims around her eyes making it obvious she was fighting back tears.

"Ange, what is it?" He asked, concern flooding his voice as he led her back out into the living room.

He sat down beside her on the boldly patterned electric blue couch and she sniffed loudly, her head in her hands.

"Hodgins and I had a fight…God, I said awful, awful things…he probably hates me."

"Not possible Ange." Booth soothed, rubbing her upper back gently.

She shook her head. "Oh Booth what have I done?" She dissolved in sobs and Booth pulled her to his chest, hugging her tight. He knew most of the crying was from the alcohol, but he also knew how much his artist loved the bug man and he hated to see her upset.

"It'll be okay Angela. Hodgins'll come around. He loves you."

She continued sobbing for a few minutes, whch then turned to hiccupping and before he knew what was happening, Angela was snoring against his chest, drool hanging from her bottom lip.

He stood and carefully laid her back across he couch, pulling off her cowboy boots and draping a faux fur blanket he found on another chair across her small body.

Booth made his way to the kitchen, flipping open his phone as he did so and retrieving a plastic wastebasket.

"Hello?"

"Hodgins!" Booth hissed, placing the can beside Angela's head on the floor and quickly moving back to the spacious kitchen.

"Booth? Why are you calling me at midnight?"

"That's really a weird question considering I usually wouldn't call at all." He couldn't help but point out. "What did you do?"

"What did I…what are you talking about Booth?"

"I'm talking about why I had to skip out on a bachelor party and pretend I was Angela's brother so I could keep her from doing a strip tease on top of a bar and ended up back at her apartment where I had to hold back her hair while she preformed pyrotechnics across the bathroom! Isn't that your job? Get over here!"

There was silence on the other end and then the rustling of clothes.

"We uh…we had a fight."

"Yeah, I heard and I still don't care. You get over here and you fix this. Now."

"But…"

"Please don't make me shoot you Hodgins."

Another pause and rustling of clothing.

"I'll be there in ten."

Booth shut his phone and took a deep breath.

_Glad that's taken care of._

He was stretching his neck and shoulders when he heard a loud moan coming from the living room. More specifically, from the couch.

"Ohhhh…my head."

Booth walked back over and found Angela tucked into a ball on the couch looking like Death warmed over.

He chuckled softly and knelt beside her, taking her hand in his.

"You'll live Ange. I promise."

She moaned painfully in response. Booth just shook his head.

"Hodgins is on his way over." He saw her eyes widen in fear and she started to protest, but her quieted her with a look. "It'll be fine. He loves you almost as much as you love him. You'll work it out." He stated confidently.

She relaxed and exhaled slowly. She nodded.

"Okay. If you say so."

He smiled. "I know so." With a wink, he gently kissed the back of her hand and stood up. "Two aspirin and a beer in the morning, that's the cure."

She laughed lightly and then moaned, the movement doing terrible things to her stomach.

After assuring himself that she would be alright until Hodgins arrived, he turned and started toward the door.

"Hey Booth?"

"Yeah?"

She sighed. "Thanks. Brenn is a lucky girl."

His smile softened as he nodded at her. "Hodgins is a lucky guy."

"Yeah, what a beautiful bride I"ll make." She muttered, leaning over to fill the wastebasket.

Booth chuckled and shook his head. "See you tomorrow Ange."

Another moan followed him out the door.

"If I'm not dead by then! Ohhhhh…"

**lol, poor Ange. So what'd yout think?**


	3. Danger Jack Hodgins! Danger!

**Well, I'm Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Okay, I've _been_ back but this fic is officially back. I know it's been for-ev-er but this was absolutly the hardest one to write. i mean, Booth has already saved Hodgins a couple times in subtle ways (I cite; Boy in the Bush at the end, Man with the Bone at the end, Gravedigger etc.) so this one was _really_ hard. then a couple of days ago, I had a stroke of genius, and then I wrote this...which actually turned out very little like my genius idea...but that's beside the point. Enjoy!**

**A/N: In this fic, Zach can drive. **

It wasn't that Hodgins was never late. Far from it in fact. It was just that, usually when Hodgins was late, Angela was late as well. But Angela was on time that morning, bright and early at 8am found her tweaking the Angelator and humming a tune. Even when 8:30 rolled around and Hodgins was still MIA, no one fussed. It wasn't as if no one had ever heard of 'traffic' before. But then came 9am, and logically 9:30am and still no Hodgins. Ten found Angela repeatedly speed dialing his house and cell phone in turn, and Brennan enlisting their very own FBI contact in the search.

"He's probably just oversleapt Bones. Or he's stuck in traffic." Booth cradled his phone between his shoulder and ear as he looked over a few forms on his desk.

"For 2 hours Booth? Besides, he would have called, he knows how important punctuality is. And I'd go myself, but Angela needs me here and Zach, well…on the off chance there is something wrong, do you really want Zach to be the first person on the scene?"

Booth sighed, switching the phone to his other ear. She did have a point there. Sensing he was coming around, Brennan played her trump card.

"Please Booth. Angela and I are really worried." And she sounded it too.

"Fine." Booth sighed, "I've got a case for us, I'll run out to Hodgins' place before going to the lab, alright? But I swear to God Bones, if he's sitting out in his back yard examining a bug or something, I will shoot him."

A satisfied sigh and "Thank you Booth" were all Booth heard before flipping shut his phone, grabbing his jacket and the file and leaving his office.

Booth had only been to Hodgins place once before, the reception after the Hodgins/Montenegro Wedding that Wasn't. But he was still a bit startled when he saw the Estate.

"Did this place get bigger since the last time I was here?" He muttered to himself as he pulled up in front of the turn of the century historical Colonial home.

Booth didn't take much time to admire the three story brick mansion with the white early-American style white windows and sprawling front steps. The foyer that jutted out in a semi-cirlce and grand front doors, tall bushes flanking it on either side, were all lost on him as he got out of the car.

He had that feeling again, and it was not good.

He'd never tell Bones, or anyone else for that matter, but Booth did in fact, get gut feelings. And this one actually felt like his insides were being twisted and pulled, it was quite unpleasant and always accompanied by a sense of impending doom. The time he and Bones were chasing Gormagon on a motorcycle and he saw that black backpack bomb, the moment he realized she'd been kidnapped by the FBI agent he thought he trusted, when he made her call Russ at her home because he knew Kirby was after them, all these instances were preceded by this particular gut feeling.

He instinctively reached to check for his firearm on his hip as he carefully approached the house, scanning the surrounding bushes and windows for potential shooters or clues as to what was causing him to have this feeling. He passed Hodings mini car on the way to the door, noticing his laptop bag and cell phone were on the passenger seat. He finally reached the front door and started to knock when he noticed it was left open. Well, there was the reason behind his feeling, this couldn't be good.

He unhookd the holster on his gun so it could be pulled easily and carefully entered the house, stepping softly so as not to make noise on the Italian marble floors and weaving between statues and expensive antique vases along the foyer and entryway.

It occurred to Booth, as he entered the drawing room by way of the sitting room, that Hodgins' house was enormous and he really had no idea where to start looking for the man.

_Alright Seeley, you're one of the top investigators in the country, you can find a lost squint._

_Why was the car parked out front?_ he wondered. He remembered Zach saying he had a garage big enough for twelve cars, so why would he park in front of the front door? _Maybe he hadn't intended to park_. Hodgins' lapt top and cell phone were on the passenger seat, he probably only intended to be inside for a minute, like he forgot something and went back for it.

_So if I were a squint who'd forgotten something…where would I be?_

He quickly checked the game room and the formal dining room before coming back to the main entry lobby. He made his way carefully up a wide spiraling staircase to the upper floor where the open passageway was lined with books. He started toward what he knew to be the main bedroom, when he heard voices coming from a few doors down.

"Ronnie, just put the gun away. We can work this out."

"No! Jack I swear…j-just tell me where the paper is and I'll get out of here. Nobody gets hurt."

"Ronnie…"

"What do you need the publishing rights for anyway? If your research on _Solenopsis _Ants is as breakthrough as you say, it could be worth a lot of money. What do you need all that money for? It's not like you've got hundreds of dollars worth of debt to contend with." The desperation in the man's voice was evident by the shaking and cracks. Booth frowned, if he knew anything he knew this: never tango with a desperate man who has a gun.

Booth pulled out his .38 and silently approached the door, repressing the urge to roll his eyes at the sound of what could only be described as 'squint crime'.

_Whoever heard of holding someone at gunpoint over some research paper? _

He carefully pushed open the door where he could hear the voices coming from and saw a scene only slightly less comical than he had imagined. In the middle of the room stood a tall, overweight man with his back to the door, waving around a firearm. Just beyond him was Hodgins, looking a little bit scared and a little bit ridiculous, his hands high in the air.

"Lower your weapon."

The man turned quicky, obviously surprised to find Booth pointing a gun directly at him, with a hand much steadier than his.

Booth was about to continue giving instructions when he took a closer look at the gun the man had been holding, he suddenly stood down, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Booth! What are you doing?" Hodgins cried out, wildly looking from his attacker to his supposed savior.

Booth ignored him and frowned, waving at the suspect. "Is that a BB gun?"

The man turned a deep shade of red to compliment the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. Hodgins suddenly dropped his arms and leapt up from the chair where he'd been sitting.

"A BB gun!?"

"N-no, it's a real gun!" The man tried, holding it up and pointing it at Booth.

This time Booth did roll his eyes approaching the man.

"I'd be more intimidated if it were a squirt gun. My five-year-old has one of these." He pulled Ronnie's thick arms around behind his back and suddenly the man lost all composure, whimpering and sobbing as he tried to explain.

"Look, if you get snot on my suit I'll shoot you. Think you could hold the waterworks until we get down to my truck?"

The man sniffed loudly and nodded, his head bowed in shame as Booth directed him out of the room, Hodgins hot on his heels.

"Wanna tell me what this was all about Hodgins?" He said shortly, as they carefully desended the stairs.

"I was halfway to work when I realized I'd forgotten my wallet with all my identification and my security card for the lab. I turned around and came back and while I was in my room I thought I heard somebody in my office. I went to check and found Ronnie snooping around. He heard me talking about a paper I was writing on fire ants and assumed it would be worth a lot of money. Which it will someday, but not yet. It's not finished." Hodgins directed the last part of his comment directly at the man in question. "Which I tried to tell him. But he wouldn't listen."

The man's quiet whimpering turned into open sobbing and Booth gave Hodgins a dirty look. "Thanks a lot."

As the trio made their way outside they heard sirens in the distance and looked up to find at least three police units barreling down Hodgins narrow, extreamly long driveway.

"You called for backup?" Hodgins asked, sounding as if he was holding back laughter.

"No I didn't call for backup." Booth snapped." My overprotective, over reactive partner obviously did."

The police pulled in and approached, and Booth was proven right. When Brennan didn't hear from him after what appeared to her to be an 'inexcusable amount of time' she called up the FBI to tell them he was missing.

"Well listen, I've got a partner to go deal with so why don't you take the 'ol sharpshooter here and book him, save me a trip to HQ." Booth pushed Ronnie into another agent's arms and then tossed the BB gun adding sarcastically, "And be careful with that. It's lethal."

Ronnie was turning six shades of crimson as he was loaded into a police car and a few agents made kidding remarks as they bagged and tagged the "weapon".

"Agent Booth, we need Mr. Hodgins' statement."

Booth turned back from his SUV and glanced over at Hodgins who, despite the obvious benign-ness of the situation, looked a bit shook up.

"Tell you what, I'll take his statement, write up a full report, and fax it to you. He's needed on some pressing FBI business at the moment."

The agent shrugged. "Good enough for me, I just need it by 3pm this afternoon."

"You got it." Booth slipped on his sunglasses and he and Hodgins loaded up into his SUV.

"Pressing FBI business?" He questioned, as he buckled in and Booth sped away from the scene.

"Yeah. It seems there is an artist down at the Jeffersonian who's just about turned herself inside out with worry, and I have a feeling she would be pretty upset with me if I showed up without you."

Hodgins smiled. "Thanks man."

"Don't mention it."

"Whatever you say, G man." He said, laughing under his breath.

"No, I mean it Hodgins. Don't mention it. To anyone." He looked over his sunglasses at the man in his passenger seat. "I have a _real_ gun."

Hodgins swallowed and nodded, wiping the grin off his face quickly, just in case Booth was serious.

Then, a few minutes later, "Hey, Booth?"

"What?"

"Can I turn on the siren?"

**So the next one is Brennan, but I promise it will not be one of the usual Booth-Saves-Brennan fics, no cliche's here. ;P **


	4. The Knight in Rubber Pants

**Okay, here's the last(?) chapter. I say that uncertainly because I do have an idea for one more chapter, but I'm not sure how to go about it, but we'll get into that later. Thanks so much to everybody who has been reading and enjoying this fic, it's been one of my fave's too. Hope this doesn't dissapoint!**

Booth blotted his forehead with a cloth, making a face as he did so. Ranger training aside, he was a wuss when it came to uncomfortable heat. He'd always figured that was why God made air conditioners and cold margaritas.

"So…no boat then?" He said sounding more like a sigh than a question, and pulled off his big aviator sunglasses to rub away the fog that was clouding his vision.

"Not for another two hours, they had a mechanical breakdown. You can wait if you like." The sherriff responded, a Georgia native, he was mildly amused by the other man's discomfort. It didn't seem that hot to him.

Booth opened his mouth but the answer came from behind them.

"No, we can't wait. There's huge bug activity in this swamp, not to mention small animal scavengers. I can't risk another two hours of damage to the evidence." Brennan informed them, already pulling a pair of old rubber pants on over her clothes.

"Hold on a second you're planning to walk across this river?" Booth asked, stuffing the cloth into his back pocket and replacing his sunglasses.

"No. _We_ are planning to walk across it." She strapped her suspenders and went in search of someone to take her kit across before them, not leaving any time for him to protest.

"Quite the little pistol you got there." The sherriff eyed Brennan, who was practically swimming in a pair of large flyfishing overalls, when Booth stepped into his line of vision, raising his eyebrows accusatorily.

"Actually she's got her own. Now, do you have another pair of those magic pants?"

The sheriff nodded and handed Booth a larger, wider replica of the rubber pants Brennan wore.

"Well, make sure your 'partner' there puts her hair up, wouldn't want one of our slithery friends to get all tangled up in it."

Booth froze midway through pulling on one leg, his head snapping up. "Slithery like…snakes?"

The sherriff smiled, pulling the peice of hay he'd been surreptitiously chewing on. "Oh yeah. We've got Southern black racers, mole kingsnakes, speckled kingsnakes, gulf salt marsh snakes, banded water snakes, midland water snakes, diamondback water snakes…"

Booth held up his hand. "Alright, I get the picture. Lots of snakes, just…" He glanced over his shoulder, Brennan was returning, already pulling her hair up and eyeing the other bank. "Don't say _anything_ about them to Bones. You got me?"

The sheriff shrugged and walked away. "Can't say I didn't warn you."

"Warn you about what?"

"Nothing Bones. You ready?" He asked, immediately plastering on his best smile.

"Yeah, my kit is already on the other side."

Booth nodded and finished pulling on the rubber overalls, all the while scanning the riverbed for 'slithery friends', feeling a little bit like he was preparing to set off on a desert mission, scanning the horizon for his target.

"Booth…you coming?"

He looked up and saw Brennan already descending into the water.

"Bones, Bones!" He exclaimed, a bit more excitedly than he intended. "Just, let me…let me go first."

Brennan gave him a strange look as he moved ahead of her into the water, holding his gun in his hand high above the water.

Shaking her head, she moved after him, eyeing her kit and trying to get a glimpse of the remains.

"We should really talk to Sweets about your alpha male tendencies." She said, stepping carefully on the mud and refraining from making faces at the chest deep, murky water.

Booth rolled his eyes, not bothering to look back over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, and we can talk to him about your independent tendencies while we're at it."

"There's nothing wrong with an independent woman, Booth."

He could hear in her tone that she was offended by the very idea.

"I know there's not, Bones, but you take being independent to a whole new, fanatical level. You should try be open to accepting help _sometimes_."

He waited to hear a snappy retort, or at the very least one of her patented I'm-losing-my-patience sighs. But none came. They were about halfway across the stagnant stream, chest deep in water with 5 meters between themselves and either shore. He was about to call her when he heard her say his name.

"Booth?" She whimpered, her voice coming out in that high, stressed way only fear can bring. He turned to look back and found her standing frozen in the middle of the river, hair falling out of her ponytail, arms out at her sides, grimacing at the water.

"Bones?" He turned, already working his way back to her in the stagnant water and slippery mud.

"I felt something." She didn't move a muscle, just kept staring at the water though it was nearly opaque with algae and mud.

He glanced over her shoulder just as the ripples of a long, black snake dispersed and it moved out of the water into a nearby thick of grass. "It was probably just a branch or…or a branch, c'mon let's get you out of the water." He stuck out his hand for her to take.

"It was not a branch Booth." Her frown continued deepening but she didn't move toward his hand.

"Maybe it was."

"It was not a branch Booth I know what a branch feels likeanditwasnota_branch_!"

"Okay, okay Bones, just simmer down. Take my hand and we'll go across together."

"I think it was a snake Booth." She whimpered, but was now moving slowly toward reaching for his hand.

"It wasn't a snake." He said smoothly, grasping her with one hand and then the other. "Alright? Look at me."

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his.

"It was not a snake."

"How can you be sure? Snakes can swim."

He smiled. "There aren't any snakes in this river."

"That's ridiculous." She scoffed half-heartedly.

"No, I'm serious. Snakes don't like this part of the river. It's a natural phenomenon. The water ph levels are all wrong for snakes."

"Why's that?" She asked, sounding skeptical, but willing to entertain his notion if it meant there were no snakes.

"It...they…they can't float."

"They can't float?" She sounded downright mocking that time.

"No. They can't float. The water doesn't allow them to be buoyant. It's true. They sink like rocks in this stream." If he noticed the way she was gripping his hand more with each step, he didn't comment, instead he moved to grasp her other hand and continued the argument.

"That's quite possibly the most improbable and scientifically unfounded thing I've ever heard you say."

"Really? More than the time I suggested our victim had some sort of Venezuelan Brittle Bone disease? Or the time I used inductive reasoning when you and the squints had so obviously decided on _deductive_ reasoning. Or how about the time Goodman wanted to know 'if I used my gut to smell, what I used my nose for'? What about…" He grinned and trailed off, Brennan now shaking with suppressed laughter and making it hard for her to continue moving forward.

Brennan shook her head, attempting to frown at his antics, but not really succeeding. "Okay, okay, I see your point…but I still don't believe you about the snakes."

"Well, that's okay Bones. You don't have to believe me."

"Yes but I…wait, why not?"

This time the smile turned cocky and he let go of one of her hand so she could look down at her feet.

"Because we're not in the river anymore."

Brennan looked down, and then turned to look back where they'd come. Sure enough, Booth had distracted her with his silly argument and she found she was safe on dry ground.

She smiled up at him, a real smile and he returned it.

"Thanks Booth."

He gave a curt nod and squeezed her hand before letting go. "You're welcome."

He leaned down and picked up her kit and his notepad and paper.

"Now, what killed 'ol swampy here?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I don't think that's her name." She started to kneel down and reached for her kit, accidentally kicking a stick that lay at her feet.

Suddenly Booth found his partner back in his arms, holding onto him with her eyes screwed tight shut.

"Um…Bones?" She peeked one eye open and frowned at the amusement in his. "This time, it really was a branch."

She pulled away from him and stiffly moved back toward her kit, ears as red as a fire engine. "I knew that."

"_Sure_ you did." Booth teased, deliberatly not making eye contact, lest her glare melt his skin.

"Let's just get this over with, okay?" She snapped, "Or the next assignment we go on will be in Brazilian Rainforest."

"What's in the Brazilian Rainforest?"

"Oh nothing. Just a few mass graves, ancient mayan artifacts...parrots."

She looked up in time to see Booth pale noticiably and then school his face into an entirely unamused glare of his own.

"Why don't we just focus on the here and now, eh Bones? We've got a murder to solve, you know." He said impatiently, flipping open his notepad and moving closer to the remains.

"Fine by me Booth." Brennan smirked and squatted down beside the half eaten skeleton. "Female, early twenties, dead approximately…"

**So, what did you think? Is Booth a true Paladin or what? Okay, so my idea for the last chapter is courtesy of a reader (though I don't remember who, please forgive me for that): Booth has spent the last four chapters protecting his squints in one way or another, now it's the squint's turn. Okay, so the only problem is, I have no idea where to start with this, any suggestions? or do you prefer to leeave this where it is? Let me know you're thoughts, you guys know what you wanna read better than I do. But I do reserve the right to discontiue this ficlet here, should Isobella the Muse decide it has run it's proper course...**


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